


Just

by allcanadiangirl (andchimeras)



Series: Maroon & Gold [6]
Category: Everwood
Genre: Biting, Blow Jobs, Breathplay, Bruises, M/M, Rough Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2005-02-12
Updated: 2005-02-12
Packaged: 2017-10-08 08:55:46
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/74857
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/andchimeras/pseuds/allcanadiangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"Listen," Ephram says. "I'm only saying this once."</p>
            </blockquote>





	Just

Behind Bright, the door slams. He doesn't jump exactly, he's just. Startled. He looks over his shoulder.

Ephram. Is locking the bathroom door.

Steel clicks. Clicks and Bright knows this isn't their bathroom. They use the one upstairs, on the second floor near the math classes, it's always empty after school. It's not after school, and this is not their bathroom.

Ephram. Leans back against the door, head back, eyes closed. Bright doesn't get it.

And he's not nervous, exactly. Just confused. Not even. Not worried. Bright doesn't even care what's going on. He needs to piss and get back to chemistry.

"Ephram?"

"Shut up," he says. Tired.

Bright shrugs. Because it's nothing, right, it doesn't matter. He goes to a relatively clean urinal and unzips. And fuck, he's half hard, son of a bitch. This is not. This just isn't a good time.

Ephram is maybe. It seems like Ephram is waiting. He doesn't move while Bright pisses slowly. He doesn't say anything. Bright's not concerned at all. Just annoyed, right. He doesn't need an audience. He zips up, flushes, walks over to the sink.

The water is over his hands, cold, pink white skin, the rushing white sound swallows Ephram's breathing, and Bright's. He's thankful for that but he's just in a hurry. That's all.

Water shut off. He pulls paper towel from the thing, he wipes his hands, he feels Ephram watching him. Never thought. Never thought eyes had that kind of weight. Rubs hard between his fingers, and hears. Ephram stepping away from the door. Closer.

"Do you," Ephram says. Stops.

Bright hears a cracking sound, knows it. Knuckles. Nerves.

"If you," he says. Stops again. Angry noise.

Bright hears the smack of a fist against metal and looks in the mirror. Ephram flattens his hand. On the stall door. Bright's fingers. Too tight. Tear the towel and he looks down. Just, something. He doesn't even. What the fuck is going on.

Ephram turns, raises his eyes.

Cracked. Bright doesn't want to know what that means.

"Do you think I need this?" Ephram says.

What. What is.

Ephram steps, walks closer, slow and. Like. He doesn't quite know how to move. The towel is wet, torn in Bright's hands. His. Inside he. Shakes a little. Just. Not scared. Not.

"If you think I need this," Ephram says.

That. Bright opens his hands. Doesn't. The wetness is gone and he just. Clutches the edge of the sink.

Ephram. Smiles, kind of, and it's. It's not the same. It's just. It's broken. Even closer, steps. Up. Right. Right next to Bright. Puts his hand on the counter. Leans so he's. Pressing. A little bit. Against Bright's arm and he. Bright can't even blink.

"If you do," Ephram says.

Ephram. Looks away from the mirror, up at Bright. Bright can't. Just can't look back. Ephram touches Bright's back and. Bright watches. He sees himself shudder. Sees.

Ephram's hand sliding around to. To the other side of Bright's neck. This pressure. Firm. Bright shakes again, his heart and his stomach. And it doesn't stop this time.

Under Ephram's hand. It moves up. Pressing in, Ephram's fingers, rough. Through Bright's hair. Shocks, dim sparks, like air on wet skin. Ephram's hand closes.

And he pulls.

Bright sees himself wince and he. He leaves his eyes closed.

He doesn't. He doesn't know what's happening. He's hard, pressing himself, leaning into the counter, but he doesn't know. Ephram's leg presses him closer. And then it's painful. Hurts. He breathes hard, eyes closed. Closed. Lips on his neck, just light enough to almost, nearly tickle.

Makes this. Sound. Shaking in his lungs works up into his throat, mouth. Ephram's ear.

And Ephram. Smiles. Again, there, pressing his teeth into Bright's skin.

Open teeth, long slow burn of tongue. And Ephram bites him.

Bites in, and pulls Bright's head away. Hangs on. Skin. Bright feels it pulling away, from. From the muscle and he. He pulls too. Strain in his shoulder. He's strong enough to make it hurt even better.

Ephram shifts his grip, his hand, and his. His leg, thigh, Bright feels Ephram's hard-on pushing on the edge. Of this. This pain, this burning tearing. He knows. He knows Ephram wouldn't make him bleed.

Would Ephram make him bleed?

Ephram scrapes his teeth off the bite. Closes with a click under Bright's ear. A promise.

Spreading ache across his throat, his neck. Bright opens his eyes. Not because he wants to. Because. Because Ephram has let him go. Isn't touching him anymore.

In the mirror he sees. Ephram. Pulling his sweater over his head.

"Take your jacket off," he says.

Bright looks at himself. He. His body. Red red dark red on his neck and the distinct. Perfect. Dashes of Ephram's teeth. Like--he wants to laugh and he wants to tell Ephram the joke. Like "cut here."

But his mouth feels tiny and raw. His throat. Swollen. Ephram didn't make him bleed.

Ephram is standing beside him again. No shirt. Just. Not touching. No.

"Did you hear me?" he says.

Bright squints. There are bruises, fading, new, overlapping like scales. Over Ephram's chest, stomach, gnarled together around his right kidney. Bite marks. On his. On his left arm. These are. Ephram has let him. Do these things, and these are things. These are things Bright wants Ephram to do. To. Oh fuck. To him.

And he's not confused anymore. He nods.

"Take your jacket off," Ephram says. Louder. "Fucking now. I mean it."

He nods. He throws it off, throws it at the door.

Ephram swallows hard. Bright can see his throat--long shadowy bruise along the track of his adam's apple--he can see it moving.

"Okay," Ephram says. "Fuck. Your--shirt. Take it off."

Voice. Cracked.

Bright tugs his rugby shirt over his head and tosses it at his jacket.

And there.

This is.

In the mirror they stand far apart. He is not bruised. No marks. No old bruises. No scars. Only. Only the bite mark on his neck, darkening. Spit slick over the wound.

And Bright can see.

Ephram wider than he looks. More solid. Bright knew this before he could see. He knows. He knows the density of every inch--Ephram's body. He doesn't. Know how the skin feels. Shoulder to arm to chest. Belly shivering over Ephram's quick breaths, ribs striped with blue-grey bruises, rising. His fingers. Light blue and yellow-green.Under Ephram's last rib.

And Bright watches the ink-smudged finger marks. Marching. Trailing up Ephram's right arm as he turns, his fingers sliding. Slow. Up. Warm on his cold skin. Up Bright's chest. His neck, the side that doesn't ache. Around his jaw. Bright tries to tug away when Ephram tries to make him look.

Ephram digs in, muscle skin scraping over bone. And Bright winces. Bright looks.

Just. These are eyes he has not seen. Green-brown-yellow. Oh bruised, old bruises, deep.

"Listen," Ephram says. "I'm only saying this once."

Bright closes his eyes. Moves his head against Ephram's hand.

Ephram's breath on his face. A long time.

The knuckle stabbing accidentally into his throat. Pressure of closing.

"That, before. In the basement.," Ephram says. "Fucking Christ--I didn't want that."

But.

Ephram tugs on him, Bright stays quiet. "You can't just fuck around like that," he says. Angry. "Not like that."

Maybe he should open his eyes. Ephram moves his hand, tightens it. Around Bright's throat.

"Not with," Ephram says. "Not--"

He stops. Squeezes harder. Pushes against Bright. Bright stumbles back. Can't go anywhere. No further to go.

His back against the wall. Ephram, and tile freezing on his back. Fuck. Ephram's chest there. Against. On him. Skin. Not just Ephram's. His too. Touch. So smooth, and rough. And, there, there, he's starting to. Have. Trouble. Breathing.

Ephram leans up, up. Free hand pulling Bright down. Bright opens his mouth. And these teeth, hard, sharp, scraping his tongue, were buried. Buried in his skin.

He'd never.

This tongue. He hadn't thought. His dick was there. Once. And he.

He never realised.

Ephram fucks his mouth with his tongue.

No air. Having trouble not having. And his eyes close. Fingers clench on his neck, the back of his head. Hurts. So good.

There is a. A moan. A moan. In his mouth. Vibrations. Second-hand breath. He sucks it down.

Ephram pulls back on his head. Presses on his forehead. Wrenches away.

Bright is breathing hard and his eyes are open before he thinks about it. Ephram steps away, hands up. Deep hurt, from the surface of Bright's skin. In. Into his throat.

More, he says, wants to say. Ephram's eyes, not broken but burning. There is heavy heat there, unhealed, and he could feel. He just wants more.

"Jesus," Ephram says. Staring. He stares back. "Bright."

He hates it when Ephram says his name. Ephram shouldn't say his name. Not like that. Not like a hurt, weird, scary question.

Bright moves. Six steps. Ephram looks up as he comes closer. Up and up. And Bright's hands come up. Rough palms, sweaty, on Ephram's shoulders, and Ephram walks with him, backwards. Looking up at Bright's mouth.

The wall between two urinals. Hands in Ephram's hair. Oh pull. Hard. Jerking his head back. Open mouth.

He sucks Ephram's tongue in. Bites it. Hard. Just hard enough for one tiny. Bitter. Trickle of blood. Turning sweet.

Ephram growls.

Holy fuck.

And Ephram starts moving his tongue hard again. Grabbing Bright's face, keeping him still. Driving in. Pushing up with each stroke. Bright lets him. His free hand feels empty, but this. This is not what before was. This is just. This is totally different.

Ephram moves his hips up into Bright's and then again. Until they're rubbing off and Bright. He presses his open hand on Ephram's hip. Holding him still. Not hitting him.

He thinks. There must be new rules. He just hasn't learned them yet.

Ephram's fingers claw into Bright's shoulders and push him away. Bright lets go, steps back. He inhales, aching lungs like pierced skin, wants to say don't and more. He wants to ask.

Ephram needs to tell him the rules.

Ephram stands apart from Bright again, and stares at him. So calm.

Not broken. Not even burning now. Thick new skin.

Just.

"On your knees," he says. Hoarse, unsteady.

Bright shivers and the corner of Ephram's mouth tilts up. Bright closes his eyes. This. This is too much. This can't happen it's not. Ephram is not supposed to want this. None. Nothing. Just. Just a thing. Rush, heat, pain. Just.

"Jesus Christ. On. Your. Knees," he says again.

Bright pushes forward. Can't look at his face. Clench. His fingers. Around Ephram's neck and squeeze. Other hand harsh. Mean on the bruises at Ephram's waist. Bright licks at Ephram's ear, breathing. He smells like a hot shower. Bright thinks.

His thumb running hard up the middle of Ephram's chest--slightly slick, warm, plane of his sternum. Bright presses down. Down on the bone. Hard. Ephram's groan is cut, high. Pleading.

He bites Ephram's ear. Shut up, he tells him. Because. Because. How often, in the morning. Steam and Bright hears Ephram say it say.

He scrapes down Ephram's neck and latches on to his shoulder. Past. Past where his shirt will lay. Hidden. These are. He knees up between Ephram's legs.

And. Back.

Three feet back. Ephram's hands clawed into his shoulders. Dull and biting hurt, bitten nails.

Ephram. Pushes. Down. Hard. And he.

"Get the fuck down," he says. Bright raises his hands to break Ephram's wrists.

Ephram. Tightens his grip.

"Bitch," he says.

Low and solid and.

Bright. Stops. These are. He's waited. And.

One. One knee he flinches when it hits the tile and the other he shudders Ephram's hand on his neck squeezing light not gentle fingers on his jaw jabbing between his lips past his teeth touching his tongue rubbing it and he closes around them.

Tightens, swallows.

Ephram twists his wrist. Touching almost tickling the roof of Bright's mouth. Oh god oh god. Bright takes more. Licks the skin between his fingers.

Ephram's other hand in his hair, tugging him forward. Bright slaps his hands on the wall. Beside. Either side. He doesn't care.

Ephram hooks his fingers. Salt, bitten nails scraping. Behind Bright's teeth. Pulling Bright closer. The hand in his hair gone. Sudden. Bright watches Ephram's skin, sucking his fingers. Ephram's stomach shivers, tiny. Flutter of organs, blood.

Ephram's missing hand. His knuckles brushing Bright's chin. Metallic tearing, zipper. Silent popping of the button. Bright swallows. Ephram's fingers spread in his mouth and Bright swallows harder.

Ephram's hand pushes his jeans down and green boxers, yellow, red, Ephram's white hand Bright closes his eyes.

Hot. Wet soft and so hot on his cheek. His lip. Shudder try not to snap shut on Ephram's fingers lean leaning forward and eyes open open.

Bare and red and. Hard.

Breathe in. Ephram takes his fingers out, dragging on Bright's lower lip. Hot--scalding, hot, burning and wet.

Sweet salt-bitter. Soft.

Breathe out and Ephram gasps, groan, shoving his hips forward. Bright rocks back on his heels, forward again, air in through the nose this time.

Salt and just skin, skin, warm skin, Ephram's fingers in his hair, pulling. And push back. Bright doesn't have to do anything. Just wait.

Kneel.

Take it.

Nothing fancy nothing at all, hands braced knees set, held up by these two hands--

Eyes closed. Didn't even know until Ephram's thumbs are pressing his eyelids up.

"Watch," he says. And his hands clench hard and he pulls until Bright.

Bright is that close. Smell of warm and skanky sweat in his nose, all down his throat where Ephram's dick isn't. Thinks he can't get any closer. Black tangle in his eyes, skin like the tile on his mom's kitchen floor, can't get any closer than this. Then Ephram. One last growl grunt and. Oh pulse just the heat of his blood and the burn of it, got used to the heat and now it's searing up--

Fire on the back of his throat, ow, breathing at the wrong time. Bite down not too hard so hard not to and try not to cough and. Ephram. Scrapes jagged fingers up Bright's forehead, into his hair, knots his fist into it like a keyboard and pulls.

Bright does not want to let go. He sucks and the last of it--come, and it is not Ephram's voice--lands like a bolt on his tongue. So. Bitter. Bitter-sour like lime and cherry and lip-biting green grape.

Bright swallows. Head of Ephram's dick between his lips, getting softer.

And shouldn't it be more than just that?

Little bites and smears of blood on his own dick, Ephram's mouth tasting of salt and copper, and Ephram pushes Bright away. Hand on his forehead.

"There," he says.

Bright leans back on his heels. Ephram stuffs his dick back in his boxers, jeans and Bright stares. Red skin on the ends of Ephram's fingers, he fumbles for the zip.

Then stuffs his hands in his pockets walks into Bright's arm.

Could drop his arm, let Ephram pass.

Could not move it. Could lock his elbow. Could grab him by the leg and pull him down. Your knees, your mouth, don't let me--

Bright drops his arm.

White tiles in front of him again.

His hand falls across the top of his own thigh and he realises he isn't hard. Bright's throat tastes like spew and his tongue.

"Soda," he says. "Your breath is going to stink for hours," muffled by his sweater going over his head.

Water again. Water on skin. Faint slaps. Cha-thunk of the hand-dryer coming to and white noise noise noise noise.

Slow heavy. Lock slides back and then the door thuds shut.

The dryer stops dead.

And Bright kneels.

 

End.


End file.
